


color the coast with your smile

by newamsterdam



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Colors, M/M, Slow Build, Witches, Worldbuilding, magic shop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Haru turns nineteen, his grandmother kicks him out of the house. Makoto insists it isn’t anywhere near as harsh as all that, but Haru sees it differently, and that's how he ends up minding the Matsuoka family's magic shop for a few months. It's also how he meets Rin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gengar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gengar/gifts).



> A pinch-hit fill for the prompt: "Kiki's Delivery Service AU! - Haru is a young witch who's come to a new town to settle in with his potion brewing business, where he meets Matsuoka Rin."
> 
> I swear this will actually bear some resemblance to the movie, eventually. I just wanted to make sure you got at least part of your gift in a timely manner, and hopefully the next part will follow very shortly.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Sano is further away/more distinct from Iwatobi than it is in canon.

When Haru turns nineteen, his grandmother kicks him out of the house.

Makoto insists it isn’t anywhere near as harsh as all that, but Haru sees it differently. 

On his birthday, Haru and his grandmother run the shop as usual. She handles the front counter, because she’s better at dealing with people, while Haru stays in the back and brews potions as she calls out orders to him. They get their ingredients fresh, every day—some potions require herbs from the Tachibanas’ garden, others the scales of particular fish, and sometimes more arcane things like “a story about true tears.” Haru dutifully whispers stories and sings songs, stirs counterclockwise or clockwise as instructed, and doesn’t feel self-conscious in the slightest. This is how his life works; this is who he’s always been.

The townspeople of Iwatobi have known Haru since he was born, and they love him for himself and also because of what he does for them. He notices each of them as they enter the shop, by color—his grandmother is a steady steel blue, and the customers coming in and out are yellow and blue-green and orange. They leave small presents because they know it’s his birthday—baked goods and flowers and painted pictures. After the shop has closed, he picks through them and smiles, feeling the goodwill that has gone into each gift. 

Makoto comes over to eat dinner with them, because it’s Haru’s birthday. He’s a vibrant forest green, a color that has presence but isn’t overwhelming. He’s been going to university since the spring, and chatters about his classes with Haru’s grandmother while Haru quietly eats his meal. It’s mackerel over steamed rice, pineapple on the side. Haru likes the tastes, but he also likes the colors—white and yellow like the sky and the sun.

It takes him a moment to realize he’s being spoken to.

“Haruka?” his grandmother asks, setting down her cup of tea. She’s aged gracefully, has the same deep blue eyes as Haru, and thick, silvery hair. “Did you hear me?”

“He didn’t,” Makoto says with a small smile. “He was thinking about something else.”

Nanase Aoi shakes her head. She’s told Haru, time and time again, that noticing things is important for their craft. Haru is good at noticing scents on the breeze and the feels of sand beneath his feet and where the stray neighborhood cats like to sleep. He’s worse at noticing people. Most of the ones he knows are unobtrusive, really. 

“I had a letter from an old friend this week,” his grandmother says, perhaps for a second time. It’s a quaint habit old witches have, Haru knows, exchanging letters instead of calling or texting or emailing. “She’s not in the best of health, and needs leave her shop for a few months while she travels. She wanted to know if I knew anyone who could mind it for her.”

Immediately, something dark and foreboding settles in the pit of Haru’s chest. His grandmother doesn’t push him, not exactly—she prefers to gently tug him along with her unbending will and absolute statements. There’s no arguing with her, so Haru rarely feels like he’s losing even when she gets her way. But the one thing Haru has never compromised on is Iwatobi—he knows most young witches travel for experience, but he’s never felt the need to. He doesn’t want to leave, for any amount of time. 

“I told her you would do it,” Aoi continues smoothly. 

“What?” Makoto is the first to speak, voicing Haru’s shock but none of his indignation. 

Haru purses his lips and purposefully sets his chopsticks to the side of his plate. “No.”

Aoi continues as though she hasn’t heard. “Bitter pills can have welcome effects, Haruka. Sano is only a day away, by train. You won’t be venturing too far.” 

“You need my help, here.” Haru reaches out to pick up the three dirtied plates on the table, carrying them into the kitchen. It isn’t far enough; he can still hear his grandmother’s voice.

“Makoto will help me. Isn’t that right?”

“Ah? Yes, of course!” Makoto responds immediately. “I mean, I’ll do what I can.”

Haru walks back to the sitting room, scowling at Makoto. He’s a good friend, but he doesn’t have a drop of magic in his blood and is, apparently, also lacking a spine. The forest green wavers into something more chartreuse as he withers under Haru’s stare. 

“How?” Haru asks blandly. “Makoto can’t make potions.”

Aoi is unperturbed. “I’ll make the potions, he’ll do odd jobs when I need them. I did manage before you came along, you know.” 

Haru has never felt a desire to be needed, but something about his grandmother’s words stings. She’s more silver than blue, at the moment, more firm metal than flowing water. He knows from experience that her will is unbending. 

She sighs softly as she gets to her feet and places a hand on either of his shoulders. He remembers tugging at the tips of her fingers and following her around the shop, inexperienced and fascinated as she’d slowly explain things to him. Now, she has to look up to meet his eyes.

“You’ll never grow if this is all you’ve ever known.” Her words are final, though her voice is gentle. “It’s just a few months.”

In a matter of days, Haru is packing up his life and boarding a train for Sano.

\--

The train ride takes the better part of a day. Haru has only one overlarge suitcase, containing his clothes (many pairs of jammers) and art supplies (watercolors) and an old, handwritten tomb of his grandmother’s recipes. He stares out the window as the countryside rolls by, chin perched against his hand as he takes in the sights.

Magic isn’t an extraordinary force. It runs through the land and the sea and the sky, through plants and people and animals. Some people can see it; most can’t. Those who can are sometimes able to manipulate different forces to put things back to rights. When he and Makoto were children and Makoto would turn yellow with fear, all it took was Haru holding his hand to let the green bleed back into him. When one of the neighborhood kids’ color would go pale and watery with illness, his grandmother would advise bed rest and medicine to have them bright and vibrant again. 

Magic isn’t supernatural, she’d taught him, just a kind of enhanced intuition.

Haru has tried to learn his craft the best he can, and for the past few years he’s felt as though he’s learned all he can. The people of Iwatobi rarely have out-of-the-ordinary ailments or problems, and the recipe book is well-tabbed at the common potions. Things don’t change, much, but that doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.

Haru sighs and shakes his head. He’ll follow his grandmother’s instructions, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

It’s the evening when the train pulls into his stop. Haru drags his suitcase along, scanning the station for the person who’s supposed to come pick him up—a granddaughter, Aoi had told him, of her friend Kyou-san. 

Sano Station is busier than Iwatobi’s small stop. Eventually, however, Haru spots a girl jumping up and down and waving her arms, her bright red hair bobbing with the motion.

She is—coppery-colored, he thinks, a shade he’s never seen before. When she spots him her face lights up and the color deepens to an almost cherry-red. 

“Haruka-san!” she calls out, stepping towards him. “You are Haruka-san, right? It’s been awhile, since I’ve seen you.” 

Apparently, Haru had met Kyou-san’s grandchildren many years ago, when she’d traveled through Iwatobi with them. He barely remembers the meeting, but the color of this girl seems familiar in a way. He nods.

“…Matsuoka Kou, right?”

She lights up again, the cherry color staying strong. “That’s right! Thank you for remembering! Right this way.” She guides him along as Haru drags his suitcase behind them. “The shop is walking distance, isn’t that nice? Grandmother likes traveling, a lot, but mostly she goes places where she can be back within a day or so. Our house is behind the shop, but it’s been split into apartments so you’ll have some privacy.”

Haru finds it easy to fall into step with her, as she explains how the weather’s been lately and that her grandmother left early this morning, sorry you missed her!, and that the shop opens at nine each morning. 

The shop really is just down the road, a quaint-looking building with a red roof and a well-kept sign that reads “The Red Pearl.” Kou unlocks the door and leads him inside, hitting the light switch on her way. 

“It’s… a bakery,” Haru says, when he sees the glass display cases and smells the remnants of cinnamon and nutmeg in the air. 

“Yup!” Kou says proudly, “Grandmother’s recipes are all edible, the way she makes them. Sometimes people just need something normal to brighten up their day, but there’s also lemon muffins that can make you smile, and foamy cocoa that brings calmness, and a million other things. It’s good for business, she says, when the potions don’t just seem like medicine.” 

“I see,” Haru mutters, feeling slightly offended on behalf of his grandmother’s straightforward approach. 

“Anyway, come in for dinner! Mother’s waiting.”

Kou’s mother looks much like her, though her color is a deep, rich plum. She serves an impeccable meal of seafood, which she proudly claims is all freshly-caught.

“Sano is a fishing town, like Iwatobi,” she says, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “My late husband was a fisherman, too, but his old friends always bring us quite the haul. Aoi-san mentioned you like mackerel, is that right? I’ll make sure they bring some by often.” 

Kou and her mother are both bright, lively people, and it shows in the way their colors blend together. Both of them talk through dinner, explaining small details about the town and its inhabitants to Haru. He doubts he’ll remember all of it once he starts working, but he tries his best to get a feel for this place, if only because the Matsuokas seem so kind.

He offers to help Kou with the dishes, and it’s then that he finally asks. “Why is it that you don’t watch the shop, for your grandmother?”

Kou shrugs, her smile going a bit sheepish. Her color becomes pale, like a blush. “I can’t see it. The way the magic works. So even if I follow the recipes exactly, I can’t make them in a way that will work. But I go to school, and I run deliveries, and I’m glad my family does something that makes so many people happy, and helps them!”

He can see it in her, the way her color is strong and almost glowing, like the sun. “I think you probably help a lot,” Haru says, because it seems obvious to him.

This time Kou really does blush, shaking her head. “You didn’t have to say that! And keep going, those dishes won’t wash themselves.” 

\--

Behind the Matsuokas’ shop is a small pathway that forks off. Kou explains that one path leads to the family garden, where many of their supplies come from, and goes further down to the beach, as well. The second path is much shorter, and leads to a small house. Like Kou had mentioned, it’s split into portions. Kou and her mother live on the first floor, and there’s an outdoor staircase that leads up to the second floor, which will be Haru’s while he’s here.

“Let us know if you need anything!” Kou says, when she sees him off for the night. Haru thanks her for her kindness and ascends the steps. 

Haru unpacks quickly, and feels a disproportionate amount of joy when he glances into the bathroom and finds a fullsize tub. He lets himself soak for an hour, which becomes two, and then three as he drifts and lets the water relax him.

He’s always liked the feeling of water best, the energy it gives him and the way it flows without ceasing. There’s a special kind of magic to water, different from that of the earth or the wind. When Haru is in the water, he feels like all of his senses are heightened. He can feel the plum and cherry colors of the Matsuokas, asleep on the first floor. He can see his own color, a faint glow around his fingertips when he dips them into the water. And he can sense—

Haru sits up abruptly, splashing water out of the sides of the tub. He shakes his head, tries again—but, yes, it’s still there. He can sense four colors, four people including himself. Someone is nearby who shouldn’t be. 

He gets out of the tub and pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that sticks uncomfortably to his wet skin. The lights are all off in the lower part of the house, and the person he sensed isn’t there, anyway. Grimacing, Haru bounds down the pathway towards the shop. 

The lights are off here, too, but Haru still senses something wrong. He unlocks the back door and edges inside, unsure of what he’ll do if there is an intruder. He remembers there’s a phone on the back wall of the kitchen, decides to head there first.

He tiptoes inside, calmer than he perhaps should be. He studies the dark room, edging towards the door to the kitchen when he hears a noise.

Something has fallen to the ground, crashing down with an immense amount of noise in the quiet shop. It’s followed by someone growling out, “ _Shit_ , what the hell—” and Haru knows, for certain, that this person shouldn’t be here. No one had mentioned any men living in the Matsuoka house. 

He’s suddenly furious on behalf of Kou and her mother, who clearly have dedicated themselves to helping this town and its people. Who is the ungrateful person who’s now trying to rob them, or vandalize their well-kept shop? 

Haru doesn’t feel scared. He steps further into the room, flips the light switch, and watches the small bakery fill with light. The intruder lets out another curse, throwing up his hands to shield his eyes as he comes into full view.

He’s maybe a little taller than Haru himself, his reddish hair loose in uneven strands around his face. When he finally shifts his hands away from his face, Haru sees his sharp teeth and dangerously narrowed eyes.

“What the hell?” he repeats, looking nothing short of frazzled. “Who are _you_?”

But Haru isn’t really listening to his words, because he’s struck by the color of the person before him. It’s a weak, darkened purple, nothing like the rich, warm plum of Kou’s mother. Instead it’s deep and muddled, like a bruise. Haru has never seen a color so off in all of his life, as though no one has thought to correct for the pain this person must be feeling. It hits Haru all at once, leaves him feeling overwhelmed and almost sick.

“What’s wrong with you,” he asks, before he can stop himself.

The intruder’s face contorts, going from shocked to enraged. “Excuse me?”

Haru collects himself, clears his throat. Vaguely, he realizes that this person looks too much like Kou and her mother to really be out of place. He knows that his grandmother had mentioned Kyou-san’s grand _children_. He knows that he had met two of them, many years ago. 

“Why are you breaking into the shop,” Haru tries again. 

The intruder blinks rapidly, then scoffs. “This is _mine_ ,” he says. 

Haru is about to tell him how wrong he is, how Haru has been brought (unwillingly) to watch the shop because there’s no one here who could have done it. He isn’t sure why he feels territorial over a place that he barely knows, but he does know that this person’s color is horribly wrong, and he doesn’t want to see this bright place poisoned. 

Before he can speak, however, the door is opening behind him. “Haruka-san?” Kou calls out, “Is that you? Is everything alright?”

The intruder blanches at the sound of Kou’s voice, his color going pale. Kou comes into sight, gasping as she sees him.

“Onii-chan! You… you came home.”

Her brother turns on his heel and runs past Kou and Haru, not listening when Kou calls after him. But as soon as he’s gone, so is the stiff wrongness in the air, and Haru feels like he can breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/post/136768783355/color-the-coast-with-your-smile-part-i)@tumblr.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Haru wakes before dawn, not feeling particularly rested. He dresses quietly and leaves the Matsuokas’ home, wandering down the well-worn pathway past the garden and down to the ocean. The air in Sano is crisp and clean, and Haru stands on the shoreline and breathes for long moments before he sheds his clothing and steps into the cool, gray water. 

Even though it’s midsummer, with the sun barely having risen over the horizon the water is bitingly cold. Haru doesn’t mind, however; he walks into the ocean until it’s deep enough for him to swim, and then he goes out as far as he can before flipping over onto his back and facing the sky.

Different people have different magical affinities, his grandmother had taught him, even if they don’t have magic themselves. Makoto has always been partial to the earth—it’s solid and nurturing, like him. Haru’s parents, back when they were around enough for him to notice, were fleeting like the wind, their voices soft like summer rain. 

As for Haru himself, it’s always been water. It calms him, grounds him, helps him pick apart colors and people he can’t understand at first glance. This isn’t his ocean—not the water off the coast of Iwatobi, which has always been familiar. But as the waves move around him and soak his hair, and Haru thinks this new water might give him some sort of clarity.

 _Matsuoka Rin_. Kou had told him her brother’s name last night, looking frazzled and apologetic. 

“ _He’s like Grandmother, you know? The only person in our family other than her who can read colors, make things like she can. When we were little, he was really, really good at it. He could look at people and see their potential, almost immediately. And he wasn’t always tactful about it, but he could push people towards being happier, or better at certain things_.”

For some reason, that idea irritates Haru. He’s always thought of people as sitting on scales—sometimes they dip too much one way or the other, and it’s been his job to gently nudge them back towards equilibrium. But pushing them past that? He’s never done that—he’s never even thought it possible. 

“He’s meddlesome,” Haru murmurs, not really minding when salty water pools across his face, a bit of into his mouth. 

And if Rin is so good at pushing people further than they’ve ever gone, why is his own color so sickly and unhealthy? If anything, it’s proof that his way doesn’t work. Haru’s color has always been steady and neutral—comfortable and unchanging. He prefers that, he decides, to any spikes and lifts that would eventually become terrible lows. 

He stays like that for some time, until the sun is fully visible and the sky is pale blue. Soon, it will be time to open up the shop. Haru flips once again in the water and swims back to shore, only to stop a few yards short of the beach when he spots a figure there, watching him.

Matsuoka Rin looks like he’s been out running—his hair is pulled back from his face, his chest heaving slightly. He’s staring directly out at Haru, his eyes wide.

He doesn’t look angry, like he did last night. If Haru didn’t know any better, he’d describe Rin’s expression as awestruck. 

Pressing his lips together into a thin line, Haru stands up when the water becomes shallow enough and steps towards the beach. He glances questioningly at Rin for just a moment, then decides to keep walking. What do they really have to say to one another, after all?

“Wait.” 

He doesn’t turn around, but pauses. 

Rin doesn’t say anything else for a moment, until: “You’re… _shining_. I’ve never seen anything like that, before.” 

Confused, Haru glances down at his hands, the place he can always see his own color best. They’re wet from the ocean, and he can see a calm, sky blue color reflected in the droplets. There’s nothing “shining” about it. He turns to Rin and tilts his head. 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Rin’s brow furrows, and Haru sees the precise moment he becomes embarrassed, a yellow-orange color skirting around the edges of that same bruised purple. It’s not a pretty combination. 

“Forget it,” Rin mutters. He breaks eye contact with Haru and looks down at his feet, kicking at the sand. 

Normally, this would be the point at which Haru walks away. He doesn’t have much interest in people, especially ones that are too hard to figure out and say incomprehensible things. But something tugs at him, and he finds himself looking back at Rin to ask, “Why don’t you do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The shop. Why don’t you watch it? For your grandmother.”

The yellow-orange flares for a moment, paling into a color Haru normally associates with anxiety. But in the next second it’s subsumed by the purple, which reddens with anger. 

“Obviously there’s a reason, right? Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked you to come.” Rin’s words are short and clipped, and Haru feels like they’re being thrown at him. 

“I’m asking what that reason is.” 

“I don’t think you need to know.” 

_Irritating_. Haru has the distinct feeling that Rin is purposely belligerent, and he doesn’t have the patience to deal with that. He spares a brief moment’s remorse for Kou and Mrs. Matsuoka, who have been saddled with such an annoying relative, before shrugging and turning away. 

“Suit yourself.”

He doesn’t spare Matsuoka Rin a second glance, but the uncomfortable mixture of his colors seems burned into his memory, visible every time Haru closes his eyes. 

\--

He doesn’t have time to dwell on Rin, because as soon as he enters the Red Pearl Kou is rushing towards him.

“Oh good, you’re here! Grandmother’s recipe book is in the back, we’ll be opening in about half an hour, and it’s good to have things ready before people start coming in. Usually the sunshine cupcakes are a pretty good bet, and maybe some of the sodas that make people laugh—that’s page twenty-seven, and there’s some premade stuff in the fridge that’s all labelled. I’ll man things up front, so ask if you have any questions, okay?”

It’s hard to think of Kou in comparison to her brother, because she’s so open and helpful (a bright white halo around her cherry red) while he’s closed off like barbed wire (ugly brown-black growing out of dim purple). But Haru pushes the elder Matsuoka from his mind and gets to work, because even if coming here wasn’t his choice, he isn’t about to shame himself or his grandmother by doing a bad job.

He finds an old apron in a storage closet in the kitchen and pulls it over his head, considering the two recipe books he’s laid out on the counter. Aoi’s is illustrated with watercolors paintings that Haru did himself, little visual notations next to his grandmother’s even script. He turns to Matsuoka Kyou’s, sees a scratchy but legible scrawl of exact measurements and direct instructions. The margins of the book are riddled with someone else’s handwriting—it’s elegant and precise, usually written in warm red or dark pink ink. 

Haru opens up to the recipe for sunshine cupcakes. The recipe seems simple enough, but next to the title someone has written: _Don’t overdo it. Simpler smiles are more sincere_. Haru puzzles over that for a moment as he starts pulling ingredients together. 

He cooks rarely at home, because the Tachibanas are constantly inviting him over for dinner and otherwise his grandmother likes to cook. Haru knows how to take care of himself, has learned the basics, but has never taken much interest in the specifics. As he measures out ingredients and grates a lemon peel, he finds the movements strangely calming. 

One of the last instructions calls for a happy memory to be whispered to each cupcake before they bake in the oven. This seems typical enough, but the red-ink has written in the margin: _tell them each a joke, too._ And then, further down the page: _puns are lame, but everyone smiles at them_. 

Intuitively, Haru knows these are not Matsuoka Kyou’s instructions. But he decides to trust them, anyway. He first whispers a happy memory to each cupcake—he describes the first time he remembers swimming, and the crinkles around his grandmother’s blue eyes when she smiles, and Makoto’s siblings tackling him to the ground. 

When he’s done, he frowns over the added instructions. He isn’t very good at jokes. He pulls his cellphone out off of the counter and types out a quick message.

_Haru (07:37): do you know any puns_

_Makoto (07:43): My math teacher called me average—it was really mean._

It takes Haru a moment, and then he groans quietly.

_Haru (07:45): that was terrible  
Haru (07:46): i need about 23 more_

_Makoto (07:49): Would an insect pun really bug you?_  
_Makoto (07:50): What do sea monsters eat for lunch? Fish and ships!_  
_Makoto (07:52): It’s hard to explain puns to kleptomaniacs because they always take things literally!_

They keep rolling in, and Haru bites down on a smile as he whispers them to each cupcake and then pushes the tray into the oven. 

_Makoto (08:03): How’s everything going, by the way?_  
_Makoto (08:04): I know you weren’t excited about going, but I hope you’re having fun._  
_Makoto (08:06): We all miss you already—Ren and Ran especially. And your grandmother, of course._  
_Makoto (08:07): So how do you like it?_

Haru pauses over his phone, lips curving downwards slightly. Finally, he sends back four words.

_Haru (08:10): too early to tell_

\--

Once the shop opens, Haru’s work begins in earnest. He can see the customers coming in and out through the doorway, overhears Kou’s conversation with each of them and tries to picture their colors as he prepares pastries and cupcakes and drinks and tea breads. 

“Oh, Nitori-kun! What can I get for you?”

The boy who’s just entered the shop has a strange color, a dove gray that flickers to the point of being nearly translucent. Haru wonders at it, for a moment, until he hears him speak.

“Just, um, the usual. And I was wondering…” His voice thins out, the rest of his words unintelligible. 

Ah, Haru realizes. Lack of conviction. 

Haru tells a cooling crème brûlée about his aspirations—taking over his grandmother’s shop, acquiring his own private pool—before passing the dessert off to Kou.

The notations next to this recipe read: _for confidence. Best taken while thinking of something you really, truly want._

The dessert is a little bit runny, but Haru sees the dove gray tinge with happy, warm violet when Kou says, “You know, Nitori-kun? I think my brother’s back in town.” 

\--

The shop quiets down by the early evening, and Haru wipes his hands on a damp towel before wandering into the main area of the shop. Kou is standing by the counter, pushing her bangs away from her face. The rest of the shop is empty, save for a seat in one corner where a tall young man sits, his face hidden by the thick book he’s reading. 

“That’s Rei-kun,” Kou informs him. “He’s in my year, at school.” She leans towards Haru conspiratorially, pretending to whisper as she cups her hands around her mouth and continues, “He doesn’t believe in magic, but he comes here every day to study, anyway.”

Haru notes Rei’s color—a deep, rich indigo. It spikes with green for a moment when he hears Kou talking about him. 

“Rei-kun!” she calls out, hands on her hips. “This is Haruka-san! He’s watching the shop for my grandmother.”

Rei straightens up immediately, nods his head towards Haru. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you for being here. This place has a lot of merit, for our town, even though it can’t possibly be magical, as Gou-san claims.” 

He rambles, a little, indigo drifting to green and yellow. Haru feels his pride itching as Rei talks about science and provable fact. 

He picks up a plate of cookies he’d made earlier, and sets them down in front of Rei. 

“Try one,” he offers.

“Ah—thank you.” Rei looks a little taken aback, pushing his glasses up nervously. He takes a cookie and bites into it experimentally. “This is, this is delicious, Haruka-san!”

He looks up at Haru and smiles, and it transforms his entire face from smug-and-yet-nervous to at-ease-and-happy. 

“Take the rest with you,” Haru says. “Have one when you’re feeling nervous.”

“…I, that is—” Rei falters, color drifting towards orange and embarrassment. “Thank you.”

\--

The people of Sano aren’t the people of Iwatobi, and Matsuoka Kyou’s recipes are as different as can be from Haru’s grandmother’s. People drift in and out of the shop, as much to socialize as to ask for things. Some of them know exactly what they want, others dawdle while Haru feels out their colors and tries to decide what would be best for them. He sees pale blues and greens and bright yellows and reds, and what feels like everything in between. The day is chaotic, because he’s struck by a new color every time he turns around. 

He goes to bed after a long soak, spends the next morning in the ocean again to clear his mind. This time, he doesn’t see Rin on the beach. 

The kitchen welcomes him back, and today Haru is determined to get things even better than he had, yesterday. He opens up the recipe book to a page labelled “scones for calming anger.” He mixes ingredients and pours over the details, determined. He’s so focused on each line in turn that it’s only when he gets to the end that he sees a single red-inked note.

_They don’t fucking work._

\--

It’s nearing the end of the day and the shop is mostly empty. Rei had come by again, smiling shyly at Haru and thanking him again for the cookies. A gaggle of siblings—all with flaming hair and colors that ranged from deep rust to tangerine orange—had come in laughing and smiling, and the two brothers peeling off to ask Kou for something to improve their luck in love. She had rolled her eyes and shuffled them along, looking fondly exasperated. 

Now, Haru is helping Kou clear off the tables and tuck in the chairs. She chats idly all the while, telling Haru funny stories about their customers that help Haru fill in the reasons behind their colors. It’s nice, he can admit quietly. He likes her company, and he likes these people.

The bell over the door chimes noisily as someone rushes into the shop, charging towards Kou like a bullet and pulling her forward as she yelps. 

“Gou-chan!” the newcomer cries out dramatically, while Haru tries to assess if he’s a threat or not. “How _could_ you?”

Kou pushes him away, wrinkling her nose and scowling. “Nagisa-kun, don’t _do_ that!”

“But I’m upset with you!” Now that Haru can see him properly: a short boy, maybe even shorter than Nitori had been, with a cloud of blond hair and bright, round eyes. “You have betrayed me, and now the entire world has to know!”

“What are you talking about?” Kou rolls her eyes. 

“Rin-chan!” he declares, lifting one fist towards the ceiling. “I saw Ai-chan at the ice cream shop, today, and he told me Rin-chan is back! And you didn’t tell me! How could you, I thought we had a deal!”

“There was no deal,” Kou says, pushing Nagisa away again half-heartedly when he edges closer to her. “And he’s not… I mean, I don’t know how ‘back’ he is.” 

Haru regards the proceedings curiously. Kou is clearly fond of Nagisa, even though she seems outwardly agitated—her color dims to pink at the edges, which matches shades of Nagisa’s color. His starts out a buttery hue that constantly oscillates, pale peach and pink and orange and yellow. It reminds Haru of a sunset. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nagisa pouts. “Is he staying here? I want to see him!”

He looks around the bakery dramatically, until he spots Haru in the corner and looks confused (milky white) before smiling excitedly (golden-yellow). 

“And who’s this?” 

Kou sighs dramatically. “You’re impossible. Sit down.” 

Surprisingly, Nagisa obeys, immediately pulling out a seat and resting his elbows on the table, hands against his chin. “Sooo?”

“This is Haruka-san. He’s watching the shop while Grandmother travels.”

“I bet Rin-chan loves that,” Nagisa says in an undertone, before turning towards Haru. “Nice to meet you, Haru-chan! Thank you for your work!”

“Don’t call me –chan,” Haru replies reflexively. Nagisa grins wider.

“So you’re running the shop, and Rin-chan is back but not _back_.” He claps his hands together. “I want to know the whole story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for the nice comments on the last chapter, and sorry for the delay on this one! The next one will be up very soon.
> 
> [here](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/post/137369051695/color-the-coast-with-your-smile-part-ii)@tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up splitting this last chapter into two parts, because I think it helps the pacing. So one more is coming your way, very soon.
> 
> Thanks again for all the lovely comments, you're all super awesome and attentive readers, and I hope you enjoy this chapter and the conclusion. 
> 
> I do really like this worldbuild (if I can say so myself), so I may return to this 'verse in the future. For the moment the conclusion is coming next chapter, in the interest of finishing this giftfic in a relatively timely manner. But if there are still things you'd like to know about this world, or relationships you'd like to see more of, please let me know and I may write some shorter follow-ups in the future.

“There’s no story to tell.” Somehow, he’s ended up sitting at the table with Kou and Nagisa, Kou resting her chin against steepled fingers while Nagisa munches down an entire tray of sunshine cupcakes. (He doesn’t really need them, Haru notes—his color is vibrant and strong, even if it fluctuates, and he has no problem smiling.)

Nagisa pouts, but it’s surface level disappointment. His color doesn’t dim at all. “I was hoping it’d be something very exciting, like you’re life-long rivals and now you’ve taken Rin-chan’s place and he needs to figure out either how to beat you or work with you to defeat some great evil ghost or something!” 

“…ghost.” Haru’s voice isn’t inflected enough to sound dubious, but it’s about as close as he gets. He remembers being five or six years old, about the age when he’d really explained to Makoto who he was, what he could do, and his best friend’s first question had been _If magic’s real, are ghosts real, too?_

“Or, you know, whatever.” Nagisa waves a lazy hand, grabbing another cupcake and smearing frosting all over his chin. “These are really, really good, Haru-chan! They taste really different from Rin-chan’s, but I like them, too!”

“Rin makes smiling recipes,” Haru says, and this time he really does sound incredulous. He can’t imagine the elder Matsuoka smiling, his murky color brightening to something even hinting at happiness. 

Kou smiles ruefully. “Of course he does. He _invented_ those cupcakes, you know! All by himself!” Her cherry red melds with golden pride to become russet. 

Haru blinks. “Then why isn’t he here, running the shop?”

Kou tugs at her ponytail, her color dimming back to red and then even further to a pale blush. “Well, that was a long time ago. My father passed away when I was really, really little. But I remember it, sort of. The house always seemed dark, and my mom and grandmother… they weren’t handling it well. Apparently, that’s the only time the shop’s ever been closed.”

Haru sits perfectly still, waiting for the rest of the story. Even Nagisa has stopped fidgeting, his color stabilizing at butter yellow. 

“Onii-chan hated it. So he started playing little games with me, trying to get me to smile. He’d tell Mom jokes, and mix simple potions with Grandmother to cheer her up. And it worked, you know! After awhile it was easier to smile, and Onii-chan kept going. He got Grandmother back on her feet, and she reopened the shop after a few weeks. She started really teaching him, after that. He was busy, a lot, and didn’t have as much time to play with me.”

Kou pauses here, looking slightly abashed. “I was really jealous, I think. I couldn’t work in the shop the same way he and Grandmother could, and I always felt like Onii-chan didn’t have any time for me. But then one day there were these little yellow cupcakes sitting on the counter, and he told me they were for me.”

Haru is stricken, for a moment, at the idea of Kou (perpetually, defiantly cheerful Kou) being anything other than happy. He’s only known her a few days, but the very idea seems so utterly wrong to him. 

“And they really work, you know. I never have trouble smiling when he bakes them for me. For awhile I just thought it was the magic, but I think it’s also because I know he made them just for me. Because he couldn’t always be there to make me smile, himself.” 

Haru would never make a recipe he didn’t believe in—the authenticity of the cupcakes was obvious to him from the moment he read the instructions. But he’d also known, instinctively, that the red-inked notes were part of the recipe, intrinsic to its success. 

“Me too!” Nagisa says, and Haru’s puzzling over the non sequitur before he continues, “Rin-chan did the same thing, for me! You know, in elementary school, I was always kind of lonely.” He turns to Haru and speaks in a false aside, as though he’s revealing some great secret, “People think I’m weird a lot, when they first meet me. Can you believe that?”

Haru merely blinks, again, and soon Nagisa continues.

“But then I heard about the shop! My mom came here a lot, to get this cucumber water that’s supposed to be calming—she says it’s because my sisters were always stressing her out, never me, though!—and anyway, I’d come with her, sometimes. And one day I met Rin-chan, here, and I asked how it all worked, and he actually would tell me! He even let me follow him around in the kitchen while he helped Kyou-chan with the recipes. It was so cool.” 

Again, Haru has a hard time imagining a Nagisa that’s lonely. He associates bright, warm colors with confidence and strong relationships, and Nagisa is the epitome of both. Haru also can’t imagine a patient, young Rin guiding Nagisa around the shop, making him feel less lonely. 

“So I’d come here, almost every day! And then one time Rin-chan said that he was going travelling with Kyou-chan, because that’s how witches learn how to help people. And I was really sad, you know, because Rin-chan was my friend and I’d miss him! But then he gave me this big, big box of truffles and told me I definitely couldn’t eat them all at once.” Nagisa pouts again, now, at the memory. “But when I got home and I opened the box, there was a note inside! And it said the truffles made it easier to get along with people. Before, you know, I’d really like watching people—if they were walking their dogs or buying cool stuff at the grocery store or if someone made a good comment in class. But I never knew how to talk to them about that stuff. But then I started eating the chocolates, and I’d think about how I talked to Rin-chan about the shop, and talking to other people that way became a whole lot easier!” 

“And now we can’t get you to shut up,” Kou says sweetly, and Nagisa feigns offence and elbows her lightly. 

“That can’t be right,” Haru says, finally. Kou and Nagisa turn towards him, milky white confusion around both of them. “Someone who’s that good at this… who could read you so well and knew how you could be… how does he end up like this?”

Kou tugs at her hair again, and Nagisa fidgets in his seat.

“I don’t really know,” Kou says finally. “Onii-chan started travelling a lot with Grandmother when he was maybe nine or ten. I went with them sometimes, too. But when Onii-chan was about sixteen he said he wanted to go on his own—visit shops in other countries and figure out how to do things for himself. And Grandmother thought it was a really good idea, and at first it seemed like it was! Onii-chan stayed with a family Grandmother knows in Australia, and he’d send us long letters with new recipes in them, but then they got shorter and shorter and finally they stopped coming at all.”

“I wrote to him, too,” Nagisa puts in. “But he only ever wrote me back once or twice.”

“I didn’t even know he was coming home until we say him a few days ago,” Kou says. Her color blends to a dim purple with sadness. “Grandmother kept saying that he’d be fine, that getting away from Sano would be good for him, help him grow.”

And Haru remembers his own grandmother’s words, which had been nearly identical when she’d sent him to Sano. 

“Haru-chan’s a witch, too,” Nagisa says, as though just remembering. “Can you help Rin-chan? You must be really good if Kyou-chan trusts you with her shop, right?”

Kou doesn’t voice a similar sentiment, but the way she turns towards Haru hopefully conveys the same idea. Underneath their varying moods and baseline identifying colors, there’s a bright white glow—they both _love_ Matsuoka Rin. And from the sound of it, he’s earned that. 

“I don’t know what I could do,” Haru mutters. 

“But you know what people need when they come to the shop! Can’t you just do the same thing for Onii-chan?” Kou pauses, then looks slightly embarrassed when she says, “And, besides, Onii-chan really likes you, I think! When we went to visit Iwatobi as kids, he wouldn’t stop talking about you, and your color.”

( _“You’re … shining._ ”)

Haru feels his cheeks heat up, denial automatic in his mind. “I don’t remember that at all. Your color is… familiar. But I’ve never seen your brother before. I would know.” 

“But we were there at the same time!” Kou protests. “I mean, we were little—Onii-chan was maybe seven or so? But it definitely happened!”

Haru bites down on the inside of his lip. This is all far above what he’s used to. He’s never seen a color as ruined as Rin’s, and has no idea how to begin healing it. He doesn’t know what it’s actually supposed to _be_.

And when he has that thought, he realizes what he can do.

\--

_Haru (18:19): do you remember someone named matsuoka rin coming to visit when we were kids?_

He sends the message before he can talk himself out of it.

_Makoto (18:27): The one with red hair and a little sister, right? Aren’t you staying with them now?_

_Haru (18:30): with his sister. kou. i remember meeting her, but not her brother._

_Makoto (18:34): Well, that’s not really surprising, Haru._

_Haru (18:36): what’s that supposed to mean?_

_Makoto (18:40): Remember when Ikuya came to visit the second time, and you had forgotten his name and he cried?_

Haru does remember, and he still thinks Ikuya acted embarrassingly, because they had been twelve at the time. But Haru had remembered Ikuya’s color—autumn-tinged orange-red, a deeper counterpoint to his brother Natsuya’s summery golden. 

_Makoto (18:42): I just mean – I guess you don’t really notice people, a lot of the time? When we were kids you used to call me Green instead of my name._

_Haru (18:45): and you called me –chan even when i told you not to. what’s your point?_

There’s a long pause before Makoto answers.

_Makoto (18:57): Don’t get mad, okay? I just think that sometimes you’re so focused on reading people the way that only you can, and so you don’t really look at them. Or try to get to know them._

_Haru (19:01): i know you._

_Makoto (19:03): I’ve been here with you for a long time. And I’m glad, about that! You’re my best friend. But I think Aoi-san sent you to Sano for a reason, you know?_

_Haru (19:05): what do you remember about rin?_

Again, there’s an extended silence. Finally—

_Makoto (19:17): I think he annoyed you, a lot. You were really grumpy that whole week! But he was very excited. He wanted to do everything with you. You seemed a bit sad, when he left._  
_Makoto (19:20): You really don’t remember?_

He doesn’t. All of his earliest memories are associated with colors—his mother’s calm lavender, his father’s pale teal, his grandmother’s steel blue. Makoto has always been forest green, and when others had visited there was Ikuya’s orange-red and Asahi’s bright purple. Even Kou he remembers because he’s seen her color, again. 

If only he could remember what Matsuoka Rin’s color is supposed to be. 

\--

_Memory Mint Meringues_

_These don’t really work for studying for tests or following directions (I know, I fed Sousuke about twelve and he still couldn’t find the shop. He’s hopeless.) I think they’re more about emotional memories than factual ones._

_Don’t overdo it. Some things are harder, when you remember them._

It’s close to midnight, and Haru has turned on a single light in the shop as he gathers ingredients. This page of Kyou-san’s recipe book is well-tabbed, and the red-inked notes are more detailed and personal than on some of the other pages. When Haru reaches for the mint leaves kept in a jar over the oven, he realizes that this is where Rin had been standing, that first night when he’d broken into the shop. 

He doesn’t dwell on that thought. Instead, he separates eggs and blends sugar into the whites, grounds up the mint leaves and stirs the batter over and over again. The cookies take two hours to bake, and Haru sits at the counter, head pillowed against his arms as he dozes.

The ring of the oven wakes him, and he hurries to take the tray out of the oven, setting it aside to let it cool. The scent of mint fills the air, and after a few minutes Haru grabs for one of the cookies, taking a deep breath before setting it on his tongue.

The meringue melts in his mouth, like it’s supposed to. Haru focuses on everything he’s heard about Rin, and the two times they’ve met. Finally, he allows himself to bring up that sick, murky purple color. 

He closes his eyes, and he remembers.

There’s the sound of children laughing, of splashing water and the tutting of old women. Someone calls out “hey, wait for me!” and another (Makoto?) responds, “I’ve never seen Haru look so excited about anything.” 

“Nanase!” a voice calls out, young and self-important and joyful. “Nanase, race me!” 

Someone is throwing an arm around his shoulders, and for some reason he isn’t pushing them away. 

The memories continue, small muddled flashes of events that happened over ten years ago. Haru isn’t surprised that he doesn’t have more clarity, about them, but he’s somewhat alarmed that he’d forgotten this entirely. 

It had been summer, which he loved because he could swim in the ocean as much as he wanted. He usually didn’t like having too much company (too many people meant an unruly mix of colors to sort through, which set him on edge), but the visitors stayed for a week, and so he had time to get used to their presences. 

The little girl was vibrant red. Her grandmother was a solid copper. And the boy…

The boy was a color Haru had never seen before. And oh, he was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/post/137503248090/color-the-coast-with-your-smile-part-iii)@tumblr


	4. Chapter 4

The sun rises slowly over the ocean the next morning, and when the new light hits the water and the sand Haru sees every possible color reflected there. The waves curl over the coast, predictable but never stagnant. The moment he starts to focus on the deep reds of the horizon, they fade to rich orange, or blushing pink. They’re all beautiful, perhaps more so because they’re fleeting. 

As Haru expected, Rin shows up here, too. Maybe he always goes running before sunrise, pauses at this spot along the beach to stare out at the horizon. Haru wonders what he’s looking for, his red eyes narrowed searchingly, accusingly, at the ocean.

Haru isn’t an instigator, by nature. He knows people always see the ocean, in him, but he sees himself more like petals fallen into a river, carried along by the currents. This time, however, he knows he has to reach out first. He has to act. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says, and when Rin turns around he doesn’t seem surprised to find Haru standing behind him. His eyes widen before narrowing again, focused on Haru’s eyes and then his hands. Haru wonders if his color still seems beautiful, _shining_. 

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you can handle it yourself.” Rin’s voice is scathing. “You’re doing such a good job with the shop, you know? Everyone says so.” His words are biting and unkind, his color dissolving into gray and purple shadows. 

“So could you, if you tried.” He’s certain of this. The recipes in Kyou-san’s book, Nagisa and Kou’s testimony, and his own assessments tell him as much. Rin may even be more capable than he is, though some small measure of pride stops Haru from voicing this thought. 

Rin laughs sharply, throws his head back as his whole body shakes with the forced motion. “ _Trying_ isn’t the problem, Nanase.” 

“Haru.”

“What?”

Haru presses his lips together, tuts impatiently. “Haru. My name.” 

“I know,” Rin says, the words hissed from behind his teeth. “We’re met before, I know your fucking name, I was making a _point_ —”

When he speaks, his color coils around him like smoke, covers him like a shroud. Haru wants to step away from it, like the color might poison him if he’s too close. He has to consciously bite down on the impulse, somehow manages to stand his ground. 

“We’ve met before,” Haru says, even though the memories are still fuzzy. It’s been twelve years, he thinks distantly. In those twelve years, how many people did he meet? How many people did he fail to really notice? “You’re not the same as you were, then.”

Rin’s face contorts, sharp teeth bared. “No one stays the same,” he says coldly. He blinks at Haru, focuses again on his hands, his eyes. “Except you, maybe. How nice for you.” 

He wonders, briefly, if he should be insulted. Shrugging off that question, he shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Looking thoroughly harassed, Rin asks, “Then what did you mean?”

“Your color,” Haru says simply. It’s still looping around Rin like a snake, not the calming halo that emits from most people. Haru steels himself, then reaches out as if he could touch it. 

Rin’s face turns a furious red, as if he knows exactly what Haru’s doing. He scuffles backwards, trips and lands heavily in the sand. “What are you talking about?” He doesn’t make a move to get back on his feet. “Colors don’t change.” 

Haru blinks at Rin as if he’s just spoken Greek, or something equally incomprehensible. “Of course they do.”

“No, they don’t.” 

Of course colors change. How else would Haru, or anyone else like him, know how to do their jobs? Colors are indicators—they show whether a person is happy, healthy, connected to the world around them. Bad influences poison colors, good ones brighten them up into shining, beautiful glows. Haru has always read people by their colors—he’s never needed to pay attention to their expressions or moods or even their words. Their colors say it all. 

“Nitori,” Haru says, trying to explain. “Nitori was a pale gray color, when he came into the shop. But when your sister talked about you, he turned pink. Colors change, all the time.”

Rin is still on the ground, gaping at Haru with a shocked, pained expression. “Ai is—he’s pearl gray. He’s always been pearl gray.”

Nitori’s color hadn’t been unhealthy, Haru thinks, trying to remember exactly. But he wouldn’t describe it as pearl, imagines that as something more luminescent than the boy’s faint glow. 

Haru scowls, trying to get Rin to understand. “Your sister,” he starts again. “When you came to visit, she was just red, bright but simple. But now she has shades. Pink and orange and copper.” 

“You’re out of your mind,” Rin says, looking dazed. “Gou is amaranth. She’s _always_ amaranth.” 

“You’re wrong,” Haru says.

“What do you know?” Rin scrambles upwards, kicking up sand as he stands. “What do you know about them? This is _my_ home, Gou is _my_ sister, Ai is _my_ friend, I know them best, their colors, their—”

He lunges forward and grabs Haru by the color of his shirt, yanking him forward. Rin shakes Haru, his movements abrupt and desperate. Haru doesn’t try to push him away. After a moment, he reaches up and grips Rin’s wrists as tightly as he can, holding him in place even when Rin jerks and tries to break away. 

“What about Makoto,” Haru says, brain scrambling to land on someone who Rin can’t claim as his, “what color was he, when you met?”

He sees recognition light Rin’s eyes, is almost jealous of Rin’s immediate recollection. “Forest green,” Rin says dumbly, looking down at Haru’s hands against his wrists. 

“No,” Haru says, and now he’s the one shaking Rin, just a little. “No, he couldn’t have been. When we were little, he was paler. Yellow-green. He’s only gotten to forest green now.” 

“Colors don’t change,” Rin says, desperately. There are frustrated tears in the corners of his eyes. “They don’t.”

“ _Rin_.” Haru doesn’t know how to get him to understand. “What color am I?”

And Rin scrambles backwards so abruptly that Haru has to let go of him. He stands a few feet away from Haru, looking away from him. He stares at his feet, chest heaving, and Haru barely hears him when he mutters, “Blue.”

For a moment, Haru is disappointed. After Rin’s poetic descriptions of others, he’d been expecting something more—hoped for it, almost. But then he realizes that Rin isn’t done.

“You’re... a blue so light and bright it’s almost silver. It’s like you’re always shining.” Rin looks up at Haru with a miserable expression, but when he talks about Haru his color shifts just a bit—the murky purple edges closer to pink, the gray clears to white. 

“…I’m not.” Haru mumbles the words, almost embarrassed. He can’t imagine being a color that beautiful, can’t imagine someone else seeing that beauty in him. “It’s just normal blue.”

Rin shakes his head. “ _You_ aren’t there yet, maybe. But your color is. It won’t change.”

People are their colors, Haru has always thought. Isn’t that how this works? He can imagine a time, maybe not long in the future, when Kou’s bright red blooms into amaranth, or when Nitori’s fading gray becomes more confident and lustrous. But they aren’t there now.

“Rin. When you look at someone’s color…” Haru takes a steadying breath, feels something click into place. “Do you see what they _could_ be?”

Rin looks at Haru with a steady gaze, even though his eyes are watery and his face is still ruddy. “Of course. Your color is your potential.”

Haru almost hears the _obviously, you idiot_ tacked onto the end of that sentence. But that isn’t the way he sees colors, and as far as he knows that isn’t how his grandmother sees them, either. He’d never bothered to ask Ikuya or Natsuya, because he never imagined that the magic wouldn’t work the same way for everyone. 

“So when you look at yourself…”

Rin tilts his head towards the sky, lets out a hollow laugh. “It’s the same as it’s ever been. Rose gold.”

Haru remembers it clearly, now, the color that pulsed like it had a heartbeat when Rin was a child. A warm pink, bold and glinting like precious metal. He’d never seen anything like it, before. It was beautiful.

“Who the fuck cares?” Rin kicks the sand, his voice bitter as his color—now, in the present—shifts back to its darkened state. “What’s the point of seeing what you _could_ be, if you’re never going to get there?” 

Haru imagines Rin trying to live up to the brightness, the beauty of his color. Expectations like that could quickly crush someone, if they were unforgiving of themselves. He sees Rin young and optimistic, trying his best to cheer up his mother and grandmother after his father’s death. He sees Rin growing older, and looking out for Kou and Nagisa, probably Nitori too, pushing them towards their potentials while being haunted by his own. It must have been so lonely. 

Haru steps forward slowly, reaches out and grabs both of Rin’s hands before he can pull away. Rin stares at him numbly, looking more wrecked and disillusioned than anyone should. Especially not someone who looks at others and sees not just who they are, but the best they could be. 

“But Rin,” Haru says, slowly so that Rin will hear each and every word, “you’ve already been that.”

“I…” There’s an exact moment when Rin crumples, when his tears begin falling in earnest. “I can’t do this anymore. I had to leave. I can’t even help myself, how could I help anyone else? But I _wanted_ to, I wanted to so badly…”

Haru isn’t very good at giving affection, but it’s easy to loop his arms around Rin’s shoulders and hold him close. Rin’s head falls to Haru’s shoulder, his tears soaking through the thin material of Haru’s t-shirt. He cries and he cries, and as he does Haru sees the darkest parts of his color evaporating into the air. 

It won’t cure everything, Haru knows. But the colors afford Haru his own vantage point. Sometimes, it’s easier to fix things when you know what’s wrong to begin with. 

“It’s your shop, Rin,” Haru says. “Come back.”

Rin sniffles as he looks up at Haru, his face tearstained and blotchy. He hiccups, and then laughs breathlessly. “You said there was something wrong with me. Why would you want me there?”

Haru wants to say, _because I’ve only ever been the same color, living at home in Iwatobi. Because I want to be what you see me as, and I don’t think I can get there on my own. Because people like us help people, and I want to help you_.

But he doesn’t say these things. Instead he just huffs, lifts his chin. “Two witches are better than one. Probably.”

Rin shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. But when Haru catches sight of his face he’s smiling as the rising sun illuminates him from behind. He looks hopeful, pleased. And as he smiles, Haru sees the gold and pink flickering in his color, fighting to reach the surface.

\--

“Ick,” Rin says, glancing through Haru’s recipe book. “How do you get anyone to take these? They look like medicine and probably taste horrible.” 

“Onii-chan!” Kou scolds, elbowing him in the chest. “Don’t be mean!”

“Let me see! Let me see!” Nagisa reaches over the table, knocking cups and saucers aside. He grabs the book from Rin and riffles through it, looking increasingly alarmed. “Ahh! There’re no cookies in this at all! How do people in Iwatobi _live_?”

Haru tries not to appear too disgruntled as he plucks the book from Nagisa’s hands, smoothing down the pages and shutting the book definitively. “I’m a scary witch. I don’t bake cookies.”

“You do! And they’re really good!” As if to prove the point, Nagisa rescues his plate from teetering on the edge of the table and stuffs one of Haru’s cookies into his mouth. Kou looks properly disgusted as crumbs fall from his mouth onto the table. “Oh!” Nagisa quickly amends, with a furtive glance at Rin, “But Rin-chan’s cookies are great, too! You’ll make them for me again, right?”

Rin looks embarrassed, rubs at the back of his neck with one hand. “We’ll see.” His color flickers pinky-red, self-conscious but not desolate. Haru considers it an improvement.

It’s been three days, since Haru brought Rin back to the shop with him. There had been a lot of hugging and scolding on Kou’s end, elated shrieking from Nagisa. Rin had held himself up stiffly, had wandered around the shop as though he was walking on glass. More than once, Haru caught him looking back at Kou and Nagisa as if he couldn’t believe that they were actually happy to see him.

But Haru knows it will get easier. Having Rin around in the kitchen is—well. It isn’t exactly a help, when Rin refuses to actually touch any of the recipes. “ _They’ll come out wrong_ ,” he insists, and Haru is still too wary of the bleaker shades in his color to risk it. But Rin does watch as Haru bakes from Kyou-san’s recipes, looks particularly bashful whenever Haru follows Rin’s own hand-written instructions. “ _I was a kid when I wrote some of those_!” he says, “ _Don’t take them too seriously_.” 

Now, Haru pushes the plate of cookies towards Rin, looking at him sternly. “You haven’t eaten any, yet,” he says. 

“What are you, my mother?” Rin gripes, but he takes a cookie and starts to nibble on it nevertheless. 

“Which ones are these, again?” Kou asks, looking quizzically from Haru to her brother. She looks utterly innocent now, but yesterday she’d dragged Rin out to the front of the store, insisting he work customer service even though he looked like he’d rather melt into the ground. 

“ _Memento amemini_ ,” Haru recites, the foreign words thick on his tongue. Rin’s annotations are full of fanciful names, English and French and Latin, of all things. Next to this particular note, he’d written _Romantic, right?_

Rin chokes on the cookie, his face turning red. “Oh my god, your accent is horrible. Didn’t you take any foreign language in school?”

“I’m a witch,” Haru says for what seems like the hundredth time today. “Why do I need to know Latin?”

Rin sighs heavily, runs a hand through his jaggedly-cut hair. “Don’t you know anything? You have to travel, go to other places. Read things, talk to people. How else do you figure out new ways to help them?”

Haru finds that he doesn’t really have a response, to this. He thinks back to his grandmother, telling him that he needed to leave Iwatobi. He hasn’t been gone from his hometown for very long at all, and yet he’s already found this—Rin, Kou, and Nagisa sitting around him at this table, their colors warmly blending together as they enjoy each other’s company. Haru has found new ways of doing magic, new ways other people see the world. He never would have seen any of it, if he’d remained in Iwatobi.

The four of them look up when they hear the door opening, and see Rei poking his head inside. “I’m sorry—are you closed? I saw the light on.”

“Rei-kun! Come in,” Kou says, pulling up another chair. Rei looks slightly abashed, his indigo color flickering slightly, but by the time he’s seated around the table with them with a mug of hot chocolate and one of Haru’s cookies in hand, it’s bold and vibrant again. 

Nagisa immediately edges towards Rei, talking a mile a minute. “I know you! You’re in Class One in school, right? I’m in Class Two! I see you running track sometimes! Do you come here a lot? Are you—”

“Breathe, Nagisa,” Rin mutters, shoving him half-heartedly. “Or at least slow down.”

Nagisa sticks out his tongue at Rin, but he’s laughing. “You love me,” he declares. “Rin-chan, you would be so sad if I stopped talking, just admit it. I’m _wonderful_.” 

“Whatever,” Rin mutters, but Haru sees the way his color flashes white with affection.

Nagisa and Kou turn their attention back to Rei, who seems uncomfortable having two such earnest gazes on him. “Well… I do like coming here. It’s calming.”

“Of course it is.” Rin is proud, smug almost. “Grandmother’s been making this place warm and inviting for years, now. People can’t help but like it.”

Rei pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t try and tell me that’s magic, too.”

“Yeah?” Rin says hotly. “So?”

“I believe in science, not magic.” 

Kou huffs in exasperation, but before she can take up the argument Rin throws back his head and laughs. It’s a harsh sound, but genuine, and Haru has to stop himself from physically jumping when Rin’s color flashes bright and bold for a moment—rose gold. 

“That’s like saying you believe in physics but not biology,” Rin says, once he’s controlled his laughter. “There’s magic in science—they work together, are part of the same…” He makes a vague gesture with one hand, indicating a vast expanse. 

“That’s…” Rei looks startled for a moment, his color going milky with confusion. Haru can tell that Rei isn’t the sort of person who likes uncertainty, but he lets it linger. “Maybe you can explain it to me sometime. Rin-chan-san.” 

Rin looks startled at the strange set of honorifics, his color going blushy again with embarrassment. “Uh. Sure.”

Kou is laughing, and soon Nagisa joins in, and Rei looks mildly affronted before he starts smiling, too. The cookies help, probably. But they aren’t the sole reason that the people in this room are happy, at this moment. Haru takes deep satisfaction in the way their colors blend and reverberate off of each other, like the sounds of different instruments in an orchestra.

He looks down at his hands, expecting to see the typical staid blue. He’s surprised to find the shade’s grown a bit lighter. It’s not weak, flickering or inconsistent. Instead it’s as though there’s a bright light shining through, adding a glimpse of shine to Haru’s familiar color.

\--

_Haru (05:15): i think you would like it here_  
_Haru (05:16): come visit, when you get the chance_

_Makoto (05:20): Does that mean *you* like it there?_

_Haru (05:22): i didn’t say that_

_Makoto (05:24): You didn’t have to._  
_Makoto (05:26): I will definitely come visit! Is next week good?_

\--

It’s late at night when Rin wanders into the kitchen. Haru looks up from where he’d been reading, both Kyou-san’s and his grandmother’s recipe books open before him. He gives Rin a nod and then looks back at the books, flipping through the pages almost reverently.

“You didn’t take it personally, what we said before?” Rin asks. “I mean, I’m sure your grandmother has some great recipes, and all.”

“She doesn’t need your approval,” Haru says blandly. 

“Tch.” Rin shakes his head, pulls up a stool so he can sit beside Haru and watch him turn the pages. “Those two… they’ve lived so close together for ages, but their recipes are totally different.” 

“Maybe the way they see people is different, too.” For the first time in his life, he’s genuinely curious about something. It’s like an itch beneath his skin, the thought that there’s so much about magic and this world that he doesn’t know. He wants to learn everything he can. 

“Maybe.” Rin concedes, fingers drifting over Haru’s family book and lingering on the watercolor illustrations. “These are helpful, though. Would probably help some of our recipes along, if we knew how things should look.” He turns to Haru with something bright and inviting in his eyes.

Haru nearly chokes. “You want me to paint in your family’s book?”

“What? No. Of course not!” Rin looks equally flustered, his cheeks heated red. “Grandmother may have let you watch our shop, but you’re not a Matsuoka! That’s our book!”

“So, what, then?” Haru can feel himself pouting, his color dulling to gray. Even though he wants to help Rin, and genuinely likes being around him, there are some things about Rin that he just doesn’t get.

“I was thinking…” Rin’s color goes blush-colored yet again. He looks down at the books and not at Haru when he continues, “Maybe we could start a new book. Figure out even better recipes together.”

It’s the first indication that Rin’s given that he’d try again, strive to make the recipes work. The admission fills Haru with a strange warmth, and before he thinks better of it he leans towards Rin and kisses his cheek gently, feeling the glow emanating from his own color.

“I’d like that.”

It takes a moment for Rin to register what’s happened—and then his color flares red and yellow, panicked and excited, before settling down to the warm rose gold Haru’s only seen in brief glimpses. “O-okay! It’s a plan, then!”

They sit together for some time, flipping through the recipe books and making plans. Haru thinks forward to the next few months with a light giddiness in his chest, and when he says something to that effect Rin flashes him a shy smile.

Of all the colors he’s seen, the one that comes along with Rin’s smile might be the most beautiful.

\--

“ _And color the coast with your smile_ —  
_It’s the most genuine thing I’ve ever seen_.  
_I was so lost, but now, I believe_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so long to finish this, I am so sorry. But @gengar, I really hope you enjoyed this story! 
> 
> The cookies Haru makes in the second scene are called _Memento amemini_ , which, according to a Latin-versed friend, means "remember you are loved." ~~(I'm open to corrections if I've gotten that wrong.)~~
> 
> Title and ending lyrics are from Dashboard Confessional's "[Carry This Picture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbcmELMLt0k)."
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck with me through this story! All of your comments were so kind and lovely, and I really hope you all enjoy the conclusion of the story as much as I enjoyed writing! As always, your feedback is so helpful and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, too.
> 
> Like I said last chapter, I would very much like to continue this verse at some point. So if there's anything you'd like to see addressed or characters you want to see more of, let me know.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr@[newamsterdame](http://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/).


End file.
